


A Title Is Only An Obstacle If You Let It

by indigomini



Category: EXO (Band)
Genre: Crack, M/M, crap
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-01-14
Updated: 2020-01-14
Packaged: 2021-02-27 15:28:20
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,293
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/22259473
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/indigomini/pseuds/indigomini
Summary: This is the part where a summary goes, so look, this is a summary that's full of useful information, like what the fic is about and stuff. Huh. Look at that.
Relationships: Do Kyungsoo | D.O/Kim Jongin | Kai
Comments: 16
Kudos: 165





	A Title Is Only An Obstacle If You Let It

**Author's Note:**

> @oldsoullin sent me [these pics](https://twitter.com/oldsoullin/status/1217176872519376899) and this happened, I'm sorry, but I present to you: Trash
> 
> (Anyone wanna suggest a name?)

That empty seat was calling Kyungsoo’s name. He answered with a smooth slide, angling his body on the bench to face the man, who barely noticed his arrival. Kyungsoo nearly had to clear his throat before the man blinked and lowered his phone, confusion spreading over his features as he tried to decipher if they knew each other. Perfect.

“Mind if I join you? My date stood me up and I’d die if I had to just tuck tail and sulk out of here,” Kyungsoo rested an elbow over the table, cradling his chin into his open palm, canting his head toward the wall as he studied the man’s carefully styled hair.

“Go ‘head,” the man flicked his hand over the table’s surface casually, eyes dropping back to his phone before the motion completed. He mumbled, but the words were clear. Well, damn.

“I’m Kyungsoo,” he tried, long minutes later, once his own drink arrived.

Perfectly Coiffed lowered the phone with some reluctance, annoyance smeared into his brows and bridge of his nose as he arched out of his slouched recline against the wall. Finally, he turned to Kyungsoo, finally, his eyes connected. Smugness swelled in Kyungsoo’s chest as the man’s focus lingered, growing appreciative.

“I’m Jongin.” His voice was warm, soft, like a blanket. His hands still clutched his phone, but passively, loosened, forgotten. “I— You come here often?”

“Might never come here again,” Kyungsoo fought off a victory smirk, face placid. Such a sweet voice. Such a nice tie. “I’m so embarrassed. Thank you, by the way.”

As expected, the man warmed like a lit candle, turning now to face him, forearms resting on the wooden table as he launched into a more enthusiastic introduction. New tech firm, big money, honey eyes, naive earnestness. The refills arrived by the time Jongin turned the questioning toward him.

“I freelance,” Kyungsoo answered, fingers coquettishly masking his lips as his eyes turned downward, a picture of discomfiture. He took in Jongin’s hands: long, thin fingers; pretty, soft palms. On a different night, they would mean a very different mark. “Nothing worth bragging about.”

Another drink down, and Jongin once again volunteered, eager to keep the conversation rolling. The waiter was clear on the other end of the bar. A perfect opportunity. A little push from Kyungsoo, a little awkward “oh-if-it’s-too-busy-I-should-probably-just-go-home” and the man was up, turning back to clutch at the edge of the table, promising a swift return.

Kyungsoo was efficient. He had just turned into the alleyway when a gust of icy wind shuttered his eyes. He bumped into something solid, his eyes opening to see the something solid reach out, stabilizing him.

“I need my phone for work, actually,” Jongin whispered, letting go of one shoulder to flip his hand over, palm up.

His other hand tightened its grip. Kyungsoo swallowed, weighing his odds. Could he bullshit his way out of this? 

Jongin’s lips curved up, somewhere between a sneer and a smirk. “You don’t even remember me, do you?”

His stomach dropped. In the dim alley, Kyungsoo squinted, racking his brain to make some sort of connection. His heart racing, Kyungsoo ran his tongue over the top row of his teeth, buying time, gauging luck.

Jongin laughed out a single, dry wheeze. “At least you fucked me the last time you fucked me over.”

Okay, lies, he would _not_ have slept with a mark. Kyungsoo was a professional. He hadn’t done that since— Since…

“You’re… the guy,” Kyungsoo said breathlessly.

“Yeah,” Jongin answered sarcastically, eyes rolling in disbelief, “I’m ‘the guy’.”

“The one in Suncheon,” Kyungsoo’s memory slowly unraveled. It was foggy, but distinct even in the distance. “Who bought me the train pass.”

_“Ta-da.”_

That was a wild time. More memories came back. It was a whole weekend in a dead town, back when he was scamming credit cards and much less discerning with his proclivities.

 _Jongin_. He had forgotten the name ages ago. Hell, he had forgotten the face too, apparently. Looking at it now, he didn’t understand how that happened.

In his defense, Kyungsoo had a type, so one remarkably beautiful man tended to run right into the next.

He remembered feeling bad at the time, purloined goods tucked possessively in his arms as he boarded and took his seat on the train. Nothing too valuable to begin with. Years-old laptop and a cellphone with a cracked screen. The wallet barely had pocket change. But two hours and forty-five minutes later, the train arrived in Seoul, and he had successfully pushed the guilt from his mind.

Until now, apparently.

“...I’m sorry?” Kyungsoo offered, shoulders lifting.

Jongin stared at him, eyes sharp as daggers. He scoffed. “You aren’t. You really aren’t even sorry.” His grip vanished, phantom tingles in its absence as he took a step back.

Kyungsoo gave him a confused look. There was plenty of distance between them now.

“Whatever. Keep the bag,” Jongin growled, looking down at his feet. “I do need my phone though.”

Slowly, as if approaching a cornered animal, Kyungsoo extended his hand, phone out. It was a test. Jongin accepted, pocketing it angrily and crossing his arms over his chest as he turned his head away. His lip was jutting out.

That image brought another one to the front of his mind. Sulky Jongin, a decade younger, pouting over a defeat in the arcade. Cocky him, promising to make up for it later, a sincere offer instead of mere suggestion.

“Go then,” Jongin barked, eyes glaring at him for an instance before frustration overwhelmed and he turned neatly on his glossy leather shoes, stomping to the back door of the bar.

“Wait—” Kyungsoo’s hand darted out, too late to grasp the soft blue dress shirt. His hand lingered mid-air, fingers still reaching when Jongin reached the threshold and looked cautiously over his shoulder. His hand patted his butt and he sneered back at Kyungsoo after confirming that his wallet was still miraculously in place.

He had sang for Kyungsoo. Had told him he was too shy to sing around anyone. Had flushed the most gorgeous shade of pink when Kyungsoo praised his voice. The same pink glow when Kyungsoo made that same voice tremble into weak whimpers and harsh moans that night. 

“What.” The voice was not welcoming now. Cold. Full defense.

Kyungsoo clicked his tongue, skimming whatever details he could pry off of the shadows on Jongin’s features. “You hungry?” he asked. “I know a place nearby. It’s got good beef pancakes.”

“Are you fucking kidding me?”

He lifted Jongin’s bag midway up and wiggled it, smirking, “I just got paid, apparently. It’ll be my treat.”

Jongin let the door slide shut, falling back against it in another slouch. His tongue ran over his teeth, bulging his cheeks out as it writhed. “You’ve got some fucking balls.”

“You sure?” Kyungsoo started swinging the bag to and fro. “It’s been a while since you’ve seen them. Should confirm before stating things like that.”

Long seconds passed, but a reluctant smile pulled the corners of Jongin’s lips up, revealing the briefest flash of teeth. “Fuck you,” he said.

“Dinner first,” Kyungsoo chirped jauntily, stepping boldly past him. He nearly reached the corner when he heard footsteps follow. Deep exhale, he hadn’t even realized he was holding his breath. That was a big gamble, way bigger than he thought he was making.

 _“I can’t believe I’m doing this,”_ Jongin muttered behind him, barely audible.

“ _Again_ ,” Kyungsoo added sotto voce, spinning around quickly when Jongin’s steps froze on the sidewalk. He jogged the short distance between them. “I’m kidding, I’m kidding,” he laughed, shoving Jongin’s bag back into his hands. “I’m just kidding. Come on.”

It was a nice bag. But... there's always later.


End file.
